potoDrabbles
by J. Merritt
Summary: A collection of various drabbles I've written for poto contest,various challenges, deranged plotbunnies and my own amusement. Stories range from rated K to M and may include !Crack, !Dark, Angst and other themes. Arcs include movie, book, musical and Kay.
1. A Winter Storm

_Disclaimer: Phantom of the Opera belongs to Gaston Leroux, Andrew Lloyd Webber, Susan Kay and Sony_  
_Character: Erik_/Christine  
_Warning: crack!

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**A Winter Storm**

My anger at the intrusion fell like the last snowflake. In the instant before I truly looked at her, the winter that had become my life bloomed into a brilliant summer. She's come back to me – my angel has returned! Then my eyes widen in shock as the euphoria that had blanketed my eyes was abruptly lifted and winter returned in the form of a chaotic blizzard.

She stumbled towards me, her disheveled hair filthy and matted with blood; blood that runs freely down her face, staining the porcelain skin with its angry brilliance. The dress – the damnable wedding dress I'd last seen her in, covers her like a burial shroud; torn and filthy, ragged bits clinging to torn flesh; it too stained in hateful blood.

I stare aghast as it changes before my eyes, turning a brilliant red. Winter gripped my heart with its icy chill.

My angel had fallen.

I hold her cooling body, denying myself the truth as she caresses my face, the only warmth of her pooling in my hands.

"Christine..." My once beautiful voice cracks for the first time; strained to its limits in my sorrow. Satan himself could not have faced more misery at the having been cast from Heaven. At least he hadn't watched Heaven die before him.

The once brilliant, now dull blue of her eyes look into mine, her lips smiling a skeleton's smile. Her voice, however, is still a siren's; as entrancing as the first time I'd heard her.

"I thought you were gone, my angel. I couldn't live…without you…"

Sickening terror sweeps through me, realizing the implications of her words.

"I come to you now…a living bride..."

Her last words wash over me with a cold chill even as she goes limp in my arms. Numb I look at the woman-child in my embrace; a perfect bride for a corpse like me.

Tears stream down my skeleton face as I cradle my bride, pressing desperate kisses to her cold flesh. Laying her down I continue to map her body with my half-lips, claiming my living-dead bride one first-last time.


	2. In the Morning

_Disclaimer: Phantom of the Opera belongs to Gaston Leroux, Andrew Lloyd Webber, Susan Kay and Sony_  
_Character: Madeleine_  
_Warning: crack!

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**In the Morning**

"In the morning," Madeleine whispered peering down the stairs. _I'll tell him in the morning_. But she didn't move. Something held her to her spot. _ Why wait? I've waited these past nine years, what's one more night? Besides he needs his rest…_ Still she didn't move, her hand resting on the banister, an unknown fear squeezing her heart. Slowly she moved her leg, resting her foot on the first step. _What's wrong with me? Why do I tremble so?_ Her head turned away, gazing to the attic door leading to her son's room. _What right do I have - I who have denied him a mother's love since his birth. What right do I have to force that love upon him now? What right do I have to expect that love in return?_

The first cry stuck in her throat. Trembling she lowered herself to the stairs, wrapping her arms around herself. _Charles I failed you – failed our son!_ She pressed her fists to her stomach, the sobs becoming louder. _No!_ Gulping back her insecurities she quickly stood. _No, I'm not that little girl anymore. _Determined, she placed her foot on the next stair, her trembling hand grasping the banister for dear life. _He's my son – My son!_ "My son..." She closed her eyes for a moment letting the memories of a safe childhood wash over her, memories of her parents, of Charles. Smiling sadly she whispered a thank-you, before shutting them away with the rest of her girlishness. A woman had no need for child ness, or a mother. She wouldn't hide in the past anymore – her son needed her. Swiftly she descended the staircase, running to the den where Erik lay, still sleeping off the effects of the laudanum Dr. Barye had administered after the frightful attack of the mob. She stood there paralyzed with guilt, the moonlight shinning through the broken window unto his masked face.

_Two kisses mommy – one for now and one to save for latter._ An innocent request made by a neglected child. Two kisses – the only things he'd ever asked her for – and she'd denied him.

Her faced scrunched up with guilt as she ran to his side, tentively touching him for the first time in years. Her finders trembled as she removed his mask. She didn't want to see her son's scars, but knew it was the only way to heal him – heal them. Gazing at his young face she was struck with the sudden awareness of how he resembled his father. He'd have been handsome. Sorrowfully she lowered next to the couch, grasping his icy hands in hers._ So small – so very young._ She looked upon his sleeping face with sadness. "One for now Erik, and many more later," she whispered kissing her baby for the first time.

Panicked he struggled against the confining ropes he was sure held him down, the mob's hateful words ringing in his ears, Sasha's last terrible cry ripping through his heart; he stopped as warm flesh squeezed against his hand. Gulping back his fear, he slowly opened his eyes, shock stealing his breath. Madeleine lay beside him, her arm thrown protectively across his stomach, her hand closed tightly around his. Tears stained her pale cheeks and even now her lips moved in an endless prayer. He was certain she was wishing his death again. _But if that were true then why is she holding you - she who has never touched you, certainly no more than absolutely necessary. _

Slowly, so as to not wake her, he struggled to free himself from her grasp, despite wanting nothing more than to lie in her arms forever. But he knew he was not the perfect son she loved and he would not live a lie. A slight breeze washed over him, calling his attention to the broken window as the memories washed over him. Sasha was dead, his only friend in this hateful world. He hadn't even realized he was crying until that first tear rolled down his exposed cheek. More stunning then that tear though, was the absence of wet leather. Terrified his hands flew to his face, horrified to find himself unmasked. Mortified he struggled away from his sleeping mother desperate to find it before she awoke, knowing his ugly face would invite a furious beating. His heart sank, even as she stirred, having discovered the remains among the ash of the now dead fire. _It must've fallen off, blown there by the wind. _As Madeleine opened her blue eyes, he shut his, waiting for the first enraged shriek, the first sharp blow. Was it a wonder then that he shrank away from her gentle caress? Numb he slowly opened his eyes, finding hers locked with his own, a small smile pulling at her lips, her eyes filling with tears.

"Good morning Erik," she whispered her hand still cupped against his scarred face. He opened his mouth to reply but no sound came out. Dumbly he looked to the fireplace.

"My mask…"

She hiccupped suddenly pulling him into a fierce hug. "Don't worry…you don't need it – never again. Do you hear me son? You...don't…need…it." she whispered between sobs. "I'm so sorry, I never should've…can you ever forgive me? No, you couldn't – but I don't blame you. Erik I didn't mean it, I'm glad you are here. I…I…" she pressed her lips to his forehead. "I love you, Erik." She leaned back looking into her son's stunned eyes; eyes that, even now, were filling with tears.

"Then…then you're not going to send me away?"

"No, Erik."

"But…but what about Dr. Barye?"

"He's gone dearest. I sent him away."

He stared at her, his mouth opening and closing like a fish. "But…..mother…the villagers…you're in danger…because of me," He whispered looking down.

She smiled at him sadly. "I know Erik. That's why were going to leave. We'll go to the city, you'll be taught by the finest professors. We'll escape from this life, we'll start over together." _This time I'll do it right._

_oOo  
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_Sixteen Years Later…_

His fingers flew over the keys, enchanting his audience, music swelling over them, around them, embracing them in a sensual caress. He was used to the swooning woman, the occasional moan escaping their lips as his silk-like notes touched them. But the voice of the angel threw him off balance. Breathless he watched her approach, her voice seducing him as his notes seduced the audience. They finished together, her voice and his music bringing their audience a glimpse of heaven. As their song faded he went to her, needing to know the woman behind the angelic voice. _No, not a woman, _he realized as the girl turned to face him, for that's all she was, a young girl. _Not more than eight are you Little Angel?_ "That's a lovely voice you've been blessed with Little Angel." She giggled. The little darling giggled. He found himself smiling back at the little blond beauty, entranced as much by her striking blue eyes as he had been by her voice.

"Christine."

_Huh?_

She giggled again, curtseying for him. "My name is Christine Daae. Pleased to meet you…" she stared at him expectantly.

"Erik, Erik Le Suel," he supplied with a bow of his own.

"Erik," she said fixing him with those striking eyes. "Can we sing together again?"

"I'd like that very much Christine."


	3. untitled also known as crack fic

_Disclaimer: Phantom of the Opera belongs to Gaston Leroux, Andrew Lloyd Webber, Susan Kay and Sony_  
_Character: Meg Giry_  
_Warning: crack!

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_**Crack!Fic**_  
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Meg paused glancing behind her once more to make sure she wasn't being followed by miss-goody-two-shoes - she'd been like glue lately and frankly she was beginning to question the girl's sanity - or her overprotective mother who seemed to be everywhere these days, before slipping past the mirror to the dark passage behind it. With a soft _click_ she closed the secret door, her slippered feet already tapping in beat with the muffled music drifting up to her as she glided down the labyrinth like corridors.

The music was full blast, the party already well underway - thanks to miss-goody-two-shoes-I'm-scared-stay-with-me-Meggie-poo - as she stepped into the conveniently left boat. Tucking her long legs beneath her and pointedly ignoring Firmin's advances - what was he doing here anyway!? – she turned her attention towards the Phantom's lair where Erik – OMG SEX GOD! – was currently seated on a velvet pillow dressed only in leather and some fairly revealing strings, singing deliciously of things her prudish friend would die from – and not in the good way – if she'd ever heard spoken out loud.

Her mind swimming with devious thoughts, she stepped from the boast fully intending on spending another night dancing, singing, boozing and sexing until her dainty ballet slippers fell apart or Erik decided to turn them into a pitcher for his special elixir – insane but oh-so-smexy – when Mrs-Gets-Around-Giry stepped from the shadows, a stern frown on her painted lips.

Meg Giry had seen that look plenty growing up. Simply put, it translated to get-your-blond-ass-back-to-bed-now!

"But mama…"

The look clearly changed from get-your-blond-ass-back-to-bed-now, to get-your-blond-ass-back-to-bed-now-before-I-beat-you-like-a-red-headed-step-child! Meg Giry knew when she'd lost and sadly trudged back to the now empty boat, the sound of the party she wouldn't be attending ringing in her ears. She stiffened as Erik's enticing voice belted out another verse.

"The _Time Warp_! Man, I LOVE that song!"


	4. Hidden Passion

_Disclaimer: Phantom of the Opera belongs to Gaston Leroux, Andrew Lloyd Webber, Susan Kay and Sony_  
_Character: Giles Andre/Richard Firmin_  
_Warning: lime!_

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**Hidden Passion**

He shivered turning away from the intense eyes that had been watching him all evening, feeling the strength of their desire burning into his body. He supposed he shouldn't be surprised; he was a handsome man with a rather large fortune as far as the public knew. He was bound to have admirers. However none had ever pursued him so fiercely; he found it delicious.

Leaving his wife in the clutches of High Society, he stole a glance to his interest before slipping up the darkened staircase. For a few disappointing moments he believed the other too coy to continue their game and considered drowning his wounded pride with another glass of spirits; then the first footstep sounded below. He refused to look, hurrying along like Orpheus in the land of the dead, forbidden to glance at his beloved. Finally the small office came into view and he sprung inside awaiting his company.

His breath caught as his admirer rushed him, capturing his lips in a fierce kiss, strong arms holding him close. Moaning he fell into that first kiss, his arms locking around the other's waist, his hands sliding to lower places, closing around a firm bottom as a tongue darted down his throat. Hands slid down his body, ripping at flimsy buttons, seeking a greater treasure hidden in his pants.

He gasped feeling the calloused hands grip him firmly, moving slowly in a primal rhythm. Groaning he fell against the desk as his lover's kisses flowed smoothly down his trembling body, ever closer to his throbbing manhood. Licking his lips in anticipation he watched pale lips wrapped around it, suckling slowly. His fingers clenched the desk, his knuckles white as the rhythm quickened, growing harder, fiercer, more desperate as their passion grew.

Whimpering he jammed himself hard into the other's mouth, barely registering the slight scrape of teeth – need was too great now. Hands suddenly grasped him, holding him tightly as he continued his frantic thrusting, his breaths coming in short gasps and grunts as he peaked; crying out in euphoria overtook him, his seed spilling into the other.

Satisfied he fell back allowing his body to relax as his lover stood, pressing a tender kiss to his lips. They shared a smile, their bodies pressed together as one.

"You were wonderful Giles."

Giles smiled warmly pressing another kiss to Richard's lips, content to lie in his arms a moment longer, music drifting up to them as the people danced below. It promised to be an exciting new year.


End file.
